FullReads

“Then those virgins arose and trimmed their lamps.”

“And I will light them,” said she aloud. “That will save another walk at sundown. And I know these carcels run at least five hours.” So she struck a match, and with some little difficulty coaxed the fibres to take fire. The yellow light flared luridly on the white snow-flakes, and yet it dazzled her and Tommy as it flashed on them from the reflectors. “Will anybody see it, mamma?” said the child. “Will papa see it?” And just then the witching devil who manages the fibres of memory, drew from the little crypt in Laura’s brain, where they had been stored unnoticed years upon years, four lines of Leigh Hunt’s, and the child saw that she was Hero:–

“Then at the flame a torch of fire she lit,
And, o’er her head anxiously holding it,
Ascended to the roof, and, leaning there,
Lifted its light into the darksome air.”

If only the devil would have been satisfied with this. But of course she could not remember that, without remembering Schiller:–

“In the gale her torch is blasted,
Beacon of the hoped-for strand:
Horror broods above the waters,
Horror broods above the land.”

And she said aloud to the boy, “Our torch shall not go out, Tommy,–come down, come down, darling, with mamma.” But all through the day horrid lines from the same poem came back to her. Why did she ever learn it! Why, but because dear Tom gave her the book himself; and this was his own version, as he sent it to her from the camp in the valley,–

“Yes, ’tis he! although he perished,
Still his sacred troth he cherished.”

“Why did Tom write it for me?”

“And they trickle, lightly playing
O’er a corpse upon the sand.”

“What a fool I am! Come, Tommy. Come, Matty, my darling. Mamma will tell you a story. Once there was a little boy, and he had two kittens. And he named one Buff and one Muff”– But this could not last for ever. Sundown came. And then Laura and Tommy climbed their own tower,–and she lighted her own lantern, as she called it. Sickly and sad through the storm, she could see the sister lantern burning bravely. And that was all she could see in the sullen whiteness. “Now, Tommy, my darling, we will come and have some supper.” “And while the bridegroom tarried, they all slumbered and slept.” “Yes, ’tis he; although he perished, still his sacred troth he cherished.” “Come, Tommy,–come Tommy,–come, Tommy, let me tell you a story.”

But the children had their supper,–asking terrible questions about papa,–questions which who should answer? But she could busy herself about giving them their oatmeal, and treating them to ginger-snaps, because it was Christmas Eve. Nay, she kept her courage, when Tommy asked if Santa Claus would come in the boat with papa. She fairly loitered over the undressing them. Little witches, how pretty they were in their flannel nightgowns! And Tommy kissed her, and gave her–ah me!–one more kiss for papa. And in two minutes they were asleep. It would have been better if they could have kept awake one minute longer. Now she was really alone. And very soon seven o’clock has come. She does not dare leave the clock-work at the outer lantern a minute longer. Tom and Mipples wind the works every four hours, and now they have run five. One more look at her darlings. Shall she ever see them again in this world? Now to the duty next her hand!

Yes, the wind is as fierce as ever! A point more to the north, Laura notices. She has no child to carry now. She tumbles once in the drift. But Laura has rolled in snow before. The pile at the door is three feet thick. But she works down to the latch,–and even her poor numb hand conquers it,–and it gives way. How nice and warm the tower is! and how well the lights burn! Can they be of any use this night to anybody? O my God, grant that they be of use to him!